


You Look Even Prettier Like That

by Jade_Masquerade



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jonsa Smut Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:59:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15527664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Masquerade/pseuds/Jade_Masquerade
Summary: With the room primarily lit by candlelight, Sansa hoped no one would be able to see the flush she knew crept up her chest and reddened her face. But that could be from anything, she thought, from exerting herself while dancing, from drinking… no one would suspect anything more than that from perfect, proper Sansa Stark. Certainly not that Jon’s hand was up her skirt beneath the table.





	You Look Even Prettier Like That

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Anyone Could See"

Sansa sank down into the nearest chivari chair, setting her drink and the toss bouquet she’d just caught on the table. It had been a long day—a lovely day, one in which she’d watched her older brother marry Jeyne, whom she adored—but a long day nonetheless. Really, it had been a long week, a long few months, a long year ever since Robb had shown her the ring he’d picked out on Jeyne’s advice and bent down on one knee. And after all the decorating, the hair and makeup, the hours of pictures, and the endless smiles, now the work was done and it was time to enjoy. 

“My feet hurt,” she whined, taking off her silver heels. They were pretty, but they came with a cost, just like most beautiful things. “Can we rest for a bit?” 

“Fine with me.” Jon took the chair next to her and started to loosen the bow tie of his tuxedo. She knew he wouldn’t mind missing a few songs; Jon only danced because she wanted him to, and not because he was dying to be out there doing the Cha-Cha Slide, although she had to admit she rather did find his rendition of it quite endearing. If it were up to him he’d be a wallflower, much like he had been up until just over a year ago when Jon had at long last asked Sansa out, citing that if Robb was brave enough to propose to Jeyne, then he could at least buck up the courage for this. 

Sansa finished her drink and surveyed the scene. She’d promised Jeyne she would stay behind to make sure the DJ and photographers received their tips, take home the leftover cake, and see that all their things were boxed up properly. Perhaps she could at least start to consolidate some of the centerpieces so it wouldn’t take too long at the end… 

“Relax, love,” Jon said, seeming to read her mind, his hand smoothing across her back and kneading her shoulders. He was right; it had been a draining few weeks of preparing for this day, with holding a shower for Robb and Jeyne, stuffing invitations and tying ribbons on favors, listening to Jon’s anxieties about his best man speech and then helping him practice, and there had been nothing quite like explaining to her brother how to undo a corset in the back of a wedding dress this very morning. She should be satisfied that every part of their day had turned out as wonderful as it did. 

She sighed and let herself melt into Jon’s touch, wondering how inappropriate it would be for her feet to land in his lap and receive the same treatment as her shoulders… and then Jon’s other hand slid up her thigh beneath the slit in her ice blue dress. 

“Jon,” she said, feeling her breath come a little faster for reasons that could not entirely be chalked up to nerves. “Anyone can see here.” 

“They can,” Jon said, rubbing slow circles into her skin the higher his hand went. “But they won’t.” 

She glanced around. Jeyne and Robb were entwined with each other in the middle of the dance floor, and her mother was dancing with her father across the room. Arya and Gendry appeared to be involved in some sort of breakdancing competition with each other, Bran and Rickon had disappeared with some of their friends hours ago, and Theon seemed to be flitting between two of Jeyne’s single bridesmaids. He was probably also right in that no one seemed to be paying them the slightest bit of attention, although she suspected from the deep timbre of his voice that Jon might actually rather _like_ the idea that they could be seen at any moment. 

“Everyone’s been looking at you all day in your pretty dress, sweetheart,” he said. “Now it’s my turn.” 

She nodded, releasing the breath she’d unconsciously been holding, and opened her legs a bit wider so his hand could fit between. _Two can play,_ she thought, and she reached over to feel Jon hard. 

“Sansa, stop,” he hissed, even as his hips jumped up to meet her hand. “I have to return these pants and the rest of this tux to the shop by 10 AM tomorrow, and I don’t particularly relish the idea of explaining what happened to it or spending an extra few hundred to replace it.” 

Despite her reservations, Sansa had to admit she also found the thought of Jon losing control in the middle of this room full of people unspeakably erotic.

“But it’s okay to ruin my dress?” she teased, mostly to distract herself from the way she throbbed for his touch.

“If we _were_ alone, I would tear it off you,” he said in a tone that was not teasing at all. “After all, you said yourself you’ll like as not never wear it again, and that’s a better use of it than sitting in your closet, don’t you think?” 

She couldn’t argue—she indeed had said that, and the thought of Jon ripping her dress, all of the lace and chiffon coming apart in his eagerness, did things to her that made her squirm against his hand that continued to work ever higher. 

“Let me take care of you,” he said, moving closer so his voice was now a low rumble in her ear.

She was grateful the dress didn’t allow for little more than a scrap of underwear to be worn beneath it anyway, and Jon easily slid it away now. 

“So wet,” he murmured, and she felt herself gush more at his words and at the feel of his lips on her neck beneath the artfully-arranged sidesweep of curls gathered there. He dropped kisses all the way down to her collarbone as he stroked over her clit, the way the gentleness of his lips soothed her contrasting with how the lightness of his touch ignited her, making her want more. 

Sansa pulled the table cloth a little further over her lap to conceal the movement of his hand. With the room primarily lit by candlelight, she hoped no one would be able to see the flush she knew crept up her chest and reddened her face. But that could be from anything, she thought, from exerting herself while dancing, from drinking… no one would suspect anything more than that from perfect, proper Sansa Stark. Certainly not that Jon’s hand was up her skirt beneath the table.

She gasped as Jon slid two fingers through her folds and groaned, feeling his reaction rather than hearing it over the thump of the music. She shifted her hips and Jon took the opportunity to slide a finger inside of her, where she was so hot and wet he met no resistance at all, followed by a second one that made her feel even more heady for release than before.

“OH!” Sansa cried out when Jon rubbed against a particularly satisfying spot, loudly enough that a few of Jeyne’s relatives sitting two tables away spared a glance at them. She forced herself to still until they looked away again, even as Jon slid his fingers in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. “ _There,_ ” she whispered more quietly this time, just for his ears. 

He chuckled, and she closed her eyes for a moment in embarrassment at how slippery she had become against his fingers. It would have been embarrassing if it hadn’t felt so good, if Jon hadn’t been looking at her with his grey eyes dark and full of the same kind of desire she felt bottled up inside… 

“I wish I could taste you,” he growled, and she knew from experience that those were not empty words. She felt her breasts grow heavy and strain against the lace bodice of the dress, and it didn’t take long for the feeling that had become oh-so-familiar since she’d begun dating Jon to start to build. 

Just thinking about the things he did with his tongue made her bite her lip and clench around his fingers, and he skimmed his thumb languidly over her clit until she canted her hips with a noise of frustration. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured and quickened again, finding the kind of rhythm he’d learned she liked. 

Sansa curled her hands around his wrist, not knowing what else to do with them. She didn’t want to use them to cover her face, fearing that might draw more attention her way, nor did she want to use them to fist her dress, lest her nails bite through the thin material. 

“Jon,” she whined in warning, or in want, she didn’t know anymore. She let go, feeling herself flutter around Jon’s fingers as he crooked them in a way that would have evoked a far more audible reaction from her had they not been surrounded by the likes of Old Nan and Jeyne’s great aunts and uncles. 

Jon drew his hand away and not-so-subtly sucked his fingers into his mouth, just the way she’d seen him do earlier with some frosting off the cake. She’d thought it seductive enough then, and even more so now. 

He watched as she composed herself again, rearranging her dress, unsticking her curls, fanning herself for good measure. 

“Did I miss something?” she asked, cringing at the irony of her makeup surviving the past fourteen hours, the blazing sun, and a few happy tears only for it to melt off her overheated skin now.

“No,” he said lightly, with the innocence of someone who just hadn’t given her an orgasm in front of two hundred people. “I’m just thinking about the photos from earlier.” 

She cast him a suspicious look. “What do you mean?” 

“You looked lovely then.” He grinned, his eyes running over her again, lingering in turn on her wilted hair, reddened lips, and heated skin. “But you look even prettier like that.”


End file.
